


Maleficar's Focus

by AngstOfDestiny



Series: Of Arrows and Daggers [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fantastic Racism, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 10:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16852447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstOfDestiny/pseuds/AngstOfDestiny
Summary: Zevran never expected to care about the man he was supposed to kill. He also never expected that he ends up with a chimerical Warden who has the weight of the world on his shoulders.Least of all he expected all of this to become even more complicated when a mage saved from the Circle enters the equation.





	Maleficar's Focus

**Author's Note:**

> **This is the second part of Arrows and Daggers series - can't be read independently from Dalish Arrow.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Please check the first work in the series if you don't know the first part yet.

The innkeeper was so relieved to have any guests at all that he ignored that one of them was a wild, barefooted elf with tattoos covering his whole face. He simply pocketed the coin, gave them key to a shared room with six beds and set the dinner on table. When Tav whined that he would like to have something sweet after their tiring excursion to the Tower — it turned out that it took them no less than two days — he even found some apple pie that cost them just a few coopers. Tavaris almost inhaled his portion, while Spawn ate it in small bites and with amazement on his face. Sometime during the dinner a small, brown rat emerged from his sleeve, causing Alistair to squeak, and now the mage was feeding it small pieces of his own meal.

“Sweet Andraste! That is good,” he said, licking his spoon clean. Tavaris wanted to say something, but yawned loudly. Leliana snickered at that then turned to Spawn with a pleasant smile.

“Unfortunately, we don’t often have an opportunity for such treats. But, once it’s over, I would gladly send you some Orlesian pastries. I think you’ll love them.”

Tav finally swallowed his yawn and smiled at the mage.

“And, if we happen upon any clan I can get you some Dalish treats. They are different, mostly based on halla cheeses… but there’s nothing in the world that tastes like that.” He yawned again. “Now, you have to excuse me, but I hadn’t had a magic nap. Sleep first, bath next.”

He stood up and turned to the stairs, soon disappearing on the upper floor.

Spawn shamelessly ogled him as he was leaving.

“Maker, that ass…” he whispered, probably quiet enough that the humans didn’t hear him, but Zevran caught it without any problems. He couldn’t help but grin.

Spawn apparently was aware of elven hearing, as he reddened a bit, suddenly very interested in the sad leftovers of his pie. He obviously wasn’t a shy type, so the source of the embarrassment was probably the fact that he was heard when he didn’t intend to.

Zevran didn’t think some innocent fun would hurt.

“It is a very fine ass,” he agreed. Spawn raised one brow.

“What can I say, I am a connoisseur. It would be hard to not appreciate it.” He smirked, leaning slightly into Zevran’s personal space. “Though his isn’t only one worth appreciation.”

Zevran liked his smile.

“I am sure of that. My friend Alistair there, he has a truly impressive backside. Wait till you see him in bath!”

“Hey!” Alistair protested. “I have nothing against whatever you are doing, but keep me out of it.”

Spawn winced slightly, straightening .

“That won’t be a problem. I am much more interested in people who don’t consider me less than a person because I was born with the talent they were not.”

“I don’t… It’s not…” Alistair spluttered. “I am not even a proper Templar!”

“But you would smite me if you could,” Spawn said calmly. “Not now, maybe, not without a ‘reason’. But I’ve learned, that what constitutes for a ‘reason’ depends only on the Templar’s temper.”

“I…” Alistair, apparently wasn’t able to say that this wouldn’t happen. Zevran sighed, leaning slightly towards Spawn.

“I am sorry for souring the mood. I should have thought better.”

“It’s fine…” Spawn said, but the small grimace wouldn’t leave his face.

“Why is there a rat in your collar, Spawn?” Leliana asked, changing the topic quickly. “I didn’t know they can be domesticated.”

The mage finally smiled again.

“That’s Curio. He’s been keeping me company during my last punishment and stayed afterwards,” he picked the animal and scratched its belly. The rat allowed himself to be handled like a toy and soon started to chatter with his teeth in pleasure. “He kept me from going mad in the cell.”

“I didn’t know mages were allowed pets,” Zevran said.

“We weren’t. But if you behave and it doesn’t put a strain on the Tower’s resources, nobody really cares if we manage to find one. But I kept this one a secret from Templars and senior enchanters. I probably wouldn’t be allowed to keep him.”

“So much of a troublemaker, hm?” Leliana asked with a smile.

“So it seems.” Spawn yawned, then looked at Zevran. “I’d like to take a walk before I go to sleep. Want to join me?”

Zevran nodded.

“Probably it would not be a smart move to leave you alone so close to the Tower, no? Tavaris would skin me alive if I’d let you come to any harm.”

Spawn smiled, scooping Curio from the table and putting him back in his hood.  

“Ah, it’s good to have such valiant defenders. But you know, I can shoot fire from my fingertips.”

“Let us hope you won’t have to,” Zevran stood up, waiting for the mage to join him.

“Holler if anything happens,” Leliana said quickly, looking at Spawn with slightly worried expression. “Greagoir wasn’t happy about the situation, but Zevran is right, we won’t let you come to any harm.”

“Thank you,” Spawn answered, standing up and beckoning to Zevran. As they were leaving, Zev heard Alistair whispering to her:

“Are you sure it’s good idea? Making Knight-Commander angry doesn’t sound smart to me.”

He didn’t hear the answer, as they were out of the door and Spawn stopped, looking at the ruined bridge and the tower in the lake.

“It looks so peaceful from here. So peaceful and beautiful,” he said. “Not like the prison I know.”

The view was amazing — the lake was pitch black with silver reflections where moonlight hit the small waves and the tower seemed to grow directly from its waters, white and proud and gleaming — a beacon in darkness.

“Nasty places often do not seem as such on the first glance. The same goes for nasty people,” Zevran observed, a bit surprised by the topic. He expected more of that unabashed flirting, not this.

On the other hand, he probably shouldn’t be surprised.

“How long have you been there?”

“Since I was four. I was told that earlier I lived in an chantry orphanage. I’m not sure I believe that,” Spawn answered, not looking away from the Tower. The rat stuck out its nose from his robes, sniffing around. “I think I remember my mother… Or at least someone who cared. I don’t think I would remember that if I was a magespawn as I was told.”

“I am hardly an expert on such matters,” Zevran said. “Growing among the Crows I never knew my mother.”

That was a simplification, but he wasn’t eager to share the whole story yet. “In the end I am simply a son of a whorehouse anyway.”

Spawn chuckled, but the sound was devoid of mirth.

“We make quite a pair then,” he commented.

“Quite dashing,” Zevran grinned. Spawn had a beautiful smile and lots of charm, but Zev wasn’t yet ready for such heart to heart with him. “But let us not talk about such grim topics — it’s time to celebrate! A lifetime in the Circle and now you will never have to go back! Talking about the mothers we never met will not change a thing, just spoil the mood.” 

Spawn turned to Zevran with a smile. He wasn’t very tall for a human, but Zev still had to look up.

“Anything you have in mind?”

“What I have in mind is an Antivan bath and Rivaini wine, but I am afraid we would have to settle for Fereldan…” he looked around the sleepy hamlet. “Well, Fereldan this. It might be slightly too late in the year for a bath, but I can fetch some ale for us.”

“Ah, well, then I’ll find us some templar-free spot on the shore,” Spawn gave him another smile; Tavaris was right — that smile was to kill for.

“I would recommend going left then — they might have put another Carroll on the jetty while we ate. I will be there shortly.”

Spawn nodded so Zevran ducked back into the inn, stopping the innkeeper who was readying himself to set for the night as Leliana and Alistair already went upstairs.

Getting a jug of ale and two cups wasn’t a problem though, so Zevran soon left again, clutching his prize. He wasn’t amazed by the taste during the dinner, but it wasn’t awful and Spawn drank it with obvious pleasure — Zev figured out that whatever they weren’t given in the Tower was much worse.

Spawn sat on a stone below the hamlet, staring at the water and the Tower, while absently playing with Curio, who dashed around, dazzled by the grass and fresh air.

“Ah, here he is, a free man at last,” Zevran said, his tone cheerful. “How about we drink to that?” He raised the jug and the cups when Spawn looked his way.

“That’s an offer I can’t say no to,” Spawn reached to Zevran to get a cup and raised it up once it was filled. “To freedom!”

“To freedom!” Zev repeated, setting the jug on the ground and sitting next to Spawn. It was a chilly evening, so he shivered a bit under his cloak.

“Scoot closer,” Spawn offered after getting a long drink of his ale. “You don’t seem very comfortable.”

“Ah, I am just used to much warmer climate. Fereldan autumn is harsh on me.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing it properly. From Tower the only thing I could tell was that the trees on the shore were changing colors and then snow started to gather on the windowsills. Spring was when we were sometimes allowed to open windows on the higher floors — always with a templar watching.”

“What about the lower floors?”

“The windows are sealed shut,” Spawn answered, as Zevran took his offer and moved closer. The mage was warm where their thighs met. “But enough of the Tower. Where are we heading? How do Darkspawn look like? Where were you traveling? How does Antiva look like — because you’re from Antiva, right?”

Zevran chuckled.

“Yes, I hail from Antiva City itself — but that is a whole lot of questions. I do not think I will be able to answer all of them at once. So, what would you really like to talk about?”

Spawn bit his lips, thinking.

“I am not sure — so far the world outside the Tower was something that happened to other people. Some mages get stationed out of the Tower, but I never had much chances. Greagoir doesn’t like me and I don’t think he would ever let me go if not for Tavaris. Now I want to know how all the places I’ve read about look — like, really look. But it’s hard to decide what I would like to hear first. And now that I can see these places… Do you think I will be allowed to travel if we survive this?”

Zev smiled, sipping on his ale and leaning on Spawn a little.

“If Tavaris will have anything to say about that, I am pretty sure you will be able to travel as much as you wish. He is a good man and he took liking to you, so if I learned anything about him so far, he will try to make it up to you. Where would you go?”

“I would love to see Nevarra, the Grand Necropolis… Maybe travel to Tevinter, if I can — their libraries must be so richer than ours! And I would love to see Antiva and Rivain as well; is it true that you have lots of Qunari there?”

“More Tal-Vashoth than Qunari, but yes, they land there quite often. It is close to Par Vollen after all.”

“Par Vollen! I don’t think that will ever be possible, but I’d like to see it as well. And Orlais! The balls, the palaces… But most of all I would like to travel to the places nobody was in ages. Discover some ancient ruins, find forbidden knowledge…” He gave Zevran a bashful smile. “I am reaching, I know.”

Zevran laughed.

“Oh no, my friend. Seeing where we were so far since my unfortunate attempt at assassination, you are most probably going to be sick of ancient ruins and forbidden knowledge before the year is over. We fought a corrupt Keeper of a Dalish clan and made him to undo a curse he cast ages ago on a human village; we found the Ashes of Holy Andraste — which almost killed both Tavaris and Alistair — and run away from a high dragon and village full of mad cultists. From what I have seen so far, greywardening includes much more ancient ruins and forbidden knowledge than Darkspawn.”

“But there are Darkspawn, right? How do they look?” Spawn was now almost cuddling Zevran. It was nice.

“Ugly as the Black City itself. Or the slums of Rialto. Hurlocks and genlocks look like normal people, but rotten and twisted. Ogres are beasts that stand seven feet tall. I have heard of shrieks as well, but have not seen one yet. The worst thing, though, is stench. First time I fought them… Uhm, l will just say I did not look very heroic or dashing I am afraid. It has changed since, of course. I am very dashing and heroic now.”

Spawn laughed.

“Of that I have no doubt. You were certainly very dashing and heroic in the Tower.”

“Was I?” Zevran purred, looking him in the eyes. He didn’t even notice when the wine started to get into his head. Now he was pleasantly warmed over, Spawn smelled so good and given that he seemed to find him equally attractive, he couldn’t see a reason why should they stop at talking.

Spawn hummed in agreement, looking down at him with a smile.

“Absolutely. And…” He apparently lost his train of thought, transfixed on Zevran’s lips.

Zev didn’t even think when he reached for Spawn’s nape and pulled him down into a kiss. The mage went along with that, nipping at Zevran’s lips and leaning over him, until they both lay on the chilled stone; Spawn over Zev, with his hands entangled in his hair and starved expression as he licked his way into his mouth.

Zevran groaned, bucking his hips upwards to meet Spawn’s, already aroused and eager. He felt lonely since Tavaris rejected him and having some innocent fun with the mage sounded great…

…but Tavaris.

Panting, he leaned away from Spawn, full of regret.

“I would love to continue,” he said, his breath ragged. “But I do not believe it is a good idea.”

The mage looked at him in clear surprise, but moved away a bit.

“Why? You seem rather interested?”

“Oh believe me, my friend, I am very interested.  But I think that Tavaris would not understand.”

Spawn blinked.

“What he has to do with that?” He asked, sitting up. “If we have sex, then we have sex — I don’t understand how his understanding matters.”

“I was under an impression that you are interested in him; and I am very sure he is interested in you.”

“Yes, and?” Spawn raised his brows.

“And he is Dalish and prudish and has a penchant for self-sacrifice. If he believes there is anything between us, even some meaningless fun as it might be, he will give up on the idea, no matter how attracted he is to you.” Zevran sighed. “I do not wish to be a reason for that. I owe him a lot.”

“So, just let me get this straight. You wish to have sex with me, but you don’t want him to know?”

“No, I do not wish to make it a secret. I have nothing against sharing, but… I am inclined to think that he might have. Unless this is sorted, I would not want to be a source of disagreement.”

“Oh, charming,” at Morrigan’s voice Zevran almost jumped. “So, I take it, this is a stray Circle mageling Tavaris decided to take with us?” She asked, standing with Tav’s mabari at her side — the hunter wasn’t eager to put the dog onto the tiny ferry, so Thushel stayed with Morrigan.

“Morrigan, this is Spawn, Spawn, this is Morrigan,” Zevran introduced, slightly irritated at the interruption. “Is watching people from bushes any particular vice of yours, my dear bruja? Because while I have nothing against being watched, it is a good practice to discuss it earlier with all the parties involved.”

The witch grimaced slightly.

“Nothing of sorts. Your rutting couldn’t bore me more, elf,” she sat on the opposite side of the stone from them. “I just happened upon you when I flew over the village to see if you are back and how many inept mages did you bring.”

“Just me — though I take an offense in being called ‘inept’,” Spawn answered, frowning.

Morrigan scoffed.

“As if they taught you anything useful in these precious Circles of yours.”

Zevran sighed.

“My dear, you should give Spawn some benefit of the doubt. He is really the best, the most independent mage we have found in this tower. Not to mention — very charming if you refrain from such baseless accusations.”

Morrigan raised one of her perfect brows in a doubtful expression.

“Independent thinker from a Circle. That’s a flying cow if I ever heard of one.”

Spawn sighed and shrugged.

“Well, that’s fair, I guess — there aren’t many of us at any rate,” he admitted. “And won’t be more for a long time, given the last disaster.”

“Oh, a disaster in a Circle. Why am I not surprised?”

Zevran looked at Morrigan with amusement.

“Because of your contempt towards the Chantry?”

She shook her head.

“You can’t put a few hundred mages into the same place, teach them to hate themselves and expect that it wouldn’t tear at the Veil, Zevran.”

Spawn nodded.

“I highly doubt making so many abominations would be so easy anywhere else than in a Circle. Living there is scary, painful and humiliating and the worst thing is that everyone seems to believe it’s normal.” His lips narrowed into a line as he frowned. “If anyone will force me back, ever, I’d rather slit my wrists than let myself be imprisoned again.”

Morrigan hummed quietly, looking at Spawn with a new interest. After a moment of silence, she finally asked.

“So, what had happened in this oasis of Chant and holiness?”

“We had a rebellion. It failed,” Spawn said curtly. “But if you excuse me, I am tired.” He stood up and clucked at his rat who immediately run to him to be scooped up and and placed in Spawn’s hood. The mage turned back to the village and the inn and left without looking at any of them.

“And the mood is spoiled,” Zevran sighed. “Could you not stayed in these bushes of yours, my bruja?”

“Oh, I believe you have spoiled it long before I came,” she answered. “All I hear is Tavaris this, Tavaris that. Just go and fix things with him — you two are making everyone tired of your dramatics.”

“I cannot just ‘fix things’, Morrigan,” he said, suddenly irritated. “He wants nothing to do with me.”

“You are a fool, Zevran, and what’s even worse — you are a boring fool.”

 

 

Zevran felt slightly offended. Fool he might be, but boring? That was a bit much. Nevertheless he smiled at her, masking his annoyance with bright expression.

“Well, I might be — but given how exhausted I am I feel justified. Will you join us in the inn? I believe there is enough beds there for you as well.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll stay, but I will walk you. This mangy mutt misses its master,” she said, gesturing to Thushel who was sitting few steps away, watching them. As he saw that Zevran noticed him, his short tail hit the ground a couple of times.

“Don’t call him that, you know he understands you,” Zevran said, standing up. “I can take him to Tav if you don’t want to go into the inn  yourself.

Morrigan stood up.

“Well… That might actually be a good idea,” she said as if surprised a bit. “In this case I will meet you in the morning.”

WIth that she just turned into raven and flew in the direction of the forest behind the village. Zevran sighed.

“So, now it’s just you and me, Thushel,” he said to the dog. “How about we get you to Tavaris now, huh?”

The dog perked up, trotting to Zevran — now he was wagging his tail in the earnest. The assassin chuckled, petting the big head and turning in the direction of the inn.

“Come on, then,” he called the animal, starting his walk back.  


In the inn everyone seemed to be sound asleep — even Spawn who must have reached the room just shortly ago. Thushel found Tav’s bed and climbed into it, waking the archer. Zevran thought for a moment that this might be a right moment to talk, the opportunity he was waiting for, but he found he didn't know what he wanted to say. Instead, he turned to the first empty bed, took off his boots, hid a dagger under his pillow and went asleep with his hand on the hilt.  


In the morning he woke up to the commotion of their group slowly waking up: Leliana fixed her daggers on her belt, Alistair yawned, undressed to his shirt, scratching his stomach. Spawn was just sitting up, bleary, wearing only his pants and undershirt, the heavy robe and cloak balled at his feet. Tavaris slept, his face hidden in Thushel’s fur, not moved by the sounds in the slightest.

“Do we wake him?” Leliana asked, gesturing to Tav.

“Better not,” answered Alistair.

“Let him sleep,” Zevran said at the same time. “He must be exhausted — and we still have to wait for the Circle’s answer before we move out.”

She nodded slowly, kneeling to lace her boots.

“Let’s just make sure the innkeeper has enough to feed him once he gets up,” she said.

Spawn snorted.

“He surely has enough supplies to feed us.”

“You haven’t seen the Wardens eat yet,” Zevran supplied, smirking.

As on the cue, Alistair’s stomach growled.

 “Can we stop talking about eating and go to actually eat?” He whined.

“Yes, we know, you haven’t eaten since evening,” Leliana teased. Alistair huffed, pulling his jerkin over his shoulders. He left his armor in a pile next to the bed for now.

“Very funny. I will let you know that I need that food, otherwise…” He paused. “Otherwise awful things would happen.”

“Like you waking Tavaris with your growling stomach?” Spawn grinned.

“He’s going to wake up soon to his own growling stomach, anyway. It’s a Warden thing.”

 

The light mood evaporated as soon as they went down to the main room of the inn. At the long table sat Irving, Wynne and some templar whom Zevran couldn’t recognize. Spawn stiffened at his sight, though and Zev couldn’t even try to guess if it was caused by a templar in general, or this particular one.

“I… better go get Tavaris,” the mage stuttered before he turned and run back to their room. 

Now it was up to three of them to stall until Tav was presentable — and Zevran didn’t trust Alistair and Leliana to act like Tavaris would wish.

“First Enchanter, Senior Enchanter,” Alistair greeted.

“It’s surprising to see you both here,” Zevran added, nodding in greeting. “I would rather expect a young templar as a messenger.”

“Well, we do have a young templar with us,” Irving smiled. “But I am too old to row back alone.”

“Alone?” Zevran asked with a pleasant smile. “I am not implying that Senior Enchanter Wynne should row, but she will be coming back as well?”

“Actually no, Zevran. You surely will be pleased to know that I got First Enchanter’s and Knight-Commander’s permission to join you in your quest.”

Zevran just sighed tiredly.

“I am sure Warden Mahariel will be delighted.”

“I will be delighted about what, Zevran?” Tavaris asked, walking down the stairs. His braid was a bit disheveled, but other than that he seemed put together, even if his eyes were circled with dark shadows. Spawn was nowhere to be seen.

“To learn that we will have a healer with us.” Zev latched to the best aspect of having Wynne with them.

Tav approached the table, looking at Wynne. He frowned.

“No.”

“I am sure you will reconsider, Warden Mahariel,” Irving said, his tone placating. “Given the circumstances… Given that the regent announced that Grey Wardens are traitors, I don’t think that the Right of Conscription applies as it has before. So, the Knight-Commander might yet retract his consent for you taking Mage Daylen away, and you don’t want him to be considered an apostate, do you? When he realized that, he wanted to take him back immediately or assign a templar to him, but I have convinced him that an assist of a responsible senior might help him find his way yet.” He paused. “Of course, if you don’t want Senior Enchanter with you, ser Gastar is ready for travel as well.” 

Tavaris pinched the bridge of his nose.

“…Of course, the Circle’s support depends on that as well.”

After a long moment of silence Tavaris slammed his fist into the table.

“Fine, fine, we’ll take the ha… her.”

Wynne smiled — Zevran couldn’t help but think it was a rather condescending smile.

“I am glad to hear it, Warden Mahariel. I hope you understand it is in everyone’s best interest.”

“I’m sure,” Tavaris’ tone was venomous. “Is there any breakfast for us?” He turned away from the mages and templars, turning to the innkeeper.

“Just a moment, ser,” the man put down the rag he was using to clear his counter. “I will bring everything in a jiffy.”

“Thank you.” The Warden’s expression softened, if only just a bit. “I appreciate that.” He turned back to Irving.

“So, now that you’ve got what you wanted, what else can I do for you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to a breakfast. We have set off pretty early.”

“Fine,” Tav spat and turned to the innkeeper. “Please add these three to our tab.”

“Certainly, good ser.”

The one good thing about the situation was that the human owning the tavern didn’t really care that the money came from an elf. Zevran didn’t even want to imagine how bad it would be if the barkeep was racist as well.

“And you could ask Daylen to come and eat with us,” was Irving’s next request. “I would like to say goodbye to the boy; he was my personal pupil.”

“Would you say goodbye to him if you made him tranquil, or killed?” Tavaris growled out. “Spawn will eat where and with whom he fancies, I am not going to drag him down if he fled just when he saw you.”

“I wouldn’t make him tranquil!” Irving protested.

“Not by your own hands, I guess, that much is true.”

“Tavaris,” Alistair tried to interrupt, but the elf had none of it.

“Or maybe you’d just kill him, spare yourself the problem?”

“My dear Warden, maybe that is not the best way of talking with our allies?” Zevran asked, putting much pressure on the last word. “I know there are grievances but maybe we should let them rest until after the Blight?”

“Grieva…” Tavaris started to almost shout but then took a look at Zevran’s face and cut his protest short. The innkeeper used the moment of silence, setting the table with heavy tray loaded with cheese, bread, honey and a vase of porridge.

“Fine.” Tav gestured for the man to leave the tray, put on it two bowls of porridge, some bread and honey. “I’m going to eat with Spawn.”

With that he disappeared back on the second floor.

 

Irving gave them a sympathetic look, while Zevran poured himself some porridge.

“I am sorry you have to work with such a disagreeable man,” he said. Surprisingly, it was Alistair who frowned at the accusation first.

“He can be very agreeable when he wants to,” he said curtly. “And his dog loves him.” 

“Not to mention that he is overstressed and really doesn’t feel comfortable among humans,” Leliana added. “He really doesn’t understand our culture and many aspects baffle and aggravate him.”

Zevran thought that Tavaris understood pretty well what he saw — he just wasn’t trained into accepting the uglier faces of the andrastian culture and laws. He didn’t say that though — there was no reason to escalate the conflict.

“Maybe I will be able to show him that it’s not bad, even if different,” Wynne offered. “He surely would be able to appreciate the Chant if he actually has a chance.”

Zevran cleared his throat.

“I would advise against that. Tavaris is a very proud Dalish man and forcing the Chant on him can only make him angry. He is adjusting, but he needs to do it in his own way, without preachers over his head.”

Wynne was going to be a huge trouble, he could tell already.

“He surely needs to understand why the Circles are needed,” Irving offered cautiously. “For his and everyone’s safety.”

“He does not,” Zevran cut it off. “Besides, do you really believe that or do you just tell yourself that to not scream into your pillow every night? I know how it is to be forced into a slavery and pretend that it is how it should be.”

Irving didn’t answer. Zevran swallowed last spoon of his porridge and stood up.

“I am going to check on them.”

 

What he saw upstairs wasn’t anything he expected. The tray with food sat on one of the beds, untouched. Tavaris sat next to Spawn,  embracing him and talking to him softly, while the much taller mage almost crawled into his lap, shaking.

“Zevran,” he greeted him, running his hand trough Spawn’s messy black hair. “Is Irving gone?”

“Not yet. He was too busy trying to insult you to eat much.” Zevran sat next to them, in a sensible distance. “But, surprisingly, neither Alistair nor Leliana wished to listen to it. Is everything alright here?”

“I don’t want to go back,” Spawn choked out. Zevran felt a deep sympathy welling in him.  He would probably feel similarly if there were Crow masters in the room below, not mages.

“We won’t let them take you,” Tavaris promised. Zevran knew this tone — this was the voice he used to calm down frightened horses. “You are a Warden recruit now, you’re one of us. I can’t promise you that you will be always happy about that, but I can promise you that you will never have to go back to living in a Circle.”

Poor boy was still terrified, Zevran saw it clearly.

“If it helps, I am perfectly willing to assist if there would be any need of… deterring nosy templars,” he offered in a soft voice. Tavaris smiled.

“See, you’ve got an Antivan Crow to watch your back as well. You might not be safe from many things, but you are surely safe from Templars.”

“They still have my phylactery in Denerim,” Spawn sobbed.

Tav frowned.

“What is that?” He asked.

“They take our blood when we arrive in the Circle and put it into a vial. They can find me with that, they can cast hexes on me… There’s lot of things they can do with my phylactery.”

“I will do my best to get it from them at the first opportunity,” the hunter promised. “I don’t think they have a right to hold something like that over a Grey Warden.”

“I don’t think they care,” Spawn answered gloomily.

“Then we will steal it,” Zevran smiled at them. “I might be trained mostly in art of assassination, but an assassin who cannot handle some old fashioned breaking-and-entering is not an assassin who lives too long.”

“See?” Tavaris smiled at the terrified mage. “You have people who have your back now.”

“And we will be soon out of here.” Zevran turned to Tav. “What are you planning now, my Warden?”

“First we need to outfit Spawn,” he answered. “There’s a market here, right? Will we find something of use?”

“If we don’t search for a new staff we should be able to cover basics,” Zevran said. “Though we should watch our money; your spending is a bit excessive, my dear Warden.”

Tavaris furrowed his brow.

“Is it?” He asked, his tone worried. “I honestly have no idea what I am doing,” he admitted. “I know that gold is worth more than silver, and silver more than copper…” He let out a deep sigh, hiding his face in Spawn’s shoulder. “I didn’t want shemlen to notice I don’t know how much I am supposed to pay, I guess. I messed up.”

He did. But that was Zevran’s chance at being invaluable again.

“Maybe a little, yes,” he said. “But, if that is any consolation, you were creating a good impression of someone who spends more than necessary just because he can. It is a good way to establish yourself as someone important among humans — though maybe not really a way that we can afford right now.”

Tavaris raised his head biting his lip. From the slight blush Zevran could tell that he was really embarrassed. It was adorable, but Zevran would get back to the Crows before he’d tell him that. He valued his head.

“What should we do?” He asked.

“How about you let me handle our expenses?” Zevran asked with an  innocent expression. “I can haggle and I know the value of money well. Other than that we should think where to get more. We can’t count on bandits and darkspawn carrying enough pocket change to pull us through the Blight.”

Tav’s expression brightened.

“You would do it? Really?” He asked excitedly. “I didn’t want to burden you with anything, but if you could handle the money that would be a tremendous help.”

Zevran couldn’t help but smile.

“That is not a burden, my dearest, not at all.”

He realized his error when Tav stiffened, moving away a bit from both him and Spawn.

“Great,” he said through gritted teeth and untied the purse from his belt. “Here,” he threw the money at Zevran who caught it swiftly. “Get Spawn shopping and I will think if I have any idea where to get more money.”

“Can’t you go with us? I would feel much better if you came along,” Spawn asked. Tavaris was silent for a moment, weighing his options. He cast a brief look at Zevran, then at Spawn, then looked at his knees.

“Alright,” he finally agreed. “I’ll go.”

 

The five stall market was enough to bedazzle Spawn — and Tavaris as well, Zevran suspected, though after Denerim the hunter learned to play it cool.

His pout was childish, though, when Zevran put his foot down at the stall with honeyed nuts, allowing him to get only one bag.

“I am very sorry about that, my dear Warden,” he said, after paying for the treat. “But we do need to outfit Spawn before we set off. And that costs money we do not really have.”

“The nuts can’t be this expensive,” Tavaris whined, opening his bag and offering some of the sweets to Spawn. “They grow on trees!”

“They probably should be cheaper,” Zevran agreed. “But there’s only so much you can haggle before the merchant will refuse to trade with you.”

Tav popped a nut into his mouth, watching with a smile how Spawn’s eyes grew wider at the taste when he tried the treat.

“I don’t need anything,” the mage announced. “Let’s get more of these.”

Zevran chuckled, herding them to the stall of the armor trader.

“I am afraid that we have spent too much effort on keeping you alive, Spawn, to forgo getting you some proper armor.”

“Isn’t it going to be heavy?” Spawn asked, looking at pieces of a plate armor lying in the sight. “I don’t think I can wear so much steel.”

“Don’t worry about that; we’ll get you some nice leathers and some normal clothes. These robes won’t be comfortable to travel in.”

“And boots,” Tavaris noticed, pointing at Spawn’s light slippers. “These won’t be of any use after two days on the road.”

Zevran nodded.

“You are right, my Warden, this should be the priority.”

The merchant emerged from a shed behind the stalls.

“Ah, welcome,” he smiled at Zevran. “I wouldn’t think that scholars travel with wild elves,” he said in a pleasant, conversational tone.

 _Eat your nuts, Tavaris_ , Zevran begged soundlessly. The Maker seemed to smile upon him for once, as Tav just glared, too busy with his treats.

“Scholars?” Spawn raised his brows in question. Ah, that was another snag.

“Yes, Spawn, I have introduced myself here because I was curious about these Par Vollen crafts here,” he gestured to boots and the harness on the display. “A fascinating stuff, truly.”

“Oh,” Spawn looked at the equipment with a mixture of terror and fascination. “I’ve read of them,” he admitted. “Sister Helia liked to make us read about the Qunari when anyone complained about the Circle. They always seemed pretty barbaric to me.” He run his fingers along the woven harness. “What they do to the mages is one thing, but do you know that they have no names of their own? Or that their funeral rites fully focus on what use the person had, not on them? It’s just… so savage.”

Tavaris, who was fingering some arrow shafts that the merchant had on display on the side of the stall turned to them with his eyes wide open.

“You know of the Qunari funeral rites?” He asked frantically. Zevran looked at him startled. He suspected that Tavaris wasn’t at peace with Sten’s death, but he didn’t expect such intensity.

Spawn looked at him with deep surprise.

“Not much, but there’s not much to the rites. They take the main tool of the dead person — they believe that one’s soul, Asala, is in their work — recite some prayers over them and pass to the next one. The body is just disposed of, without any ceremony.”

“A tool?” Tavaris was looking up at Spawn with sheer desperation. “Can a weapon be a tool?”

Spawn shrugged. “I guess? For their army for sure.” He turned to Zevran as If he didn’t expect a rational response from Tavaris at this point.

“What is it all about?”

“We used to travel with a Qunari,” Zevran explained. “Our Warden had killed him when Sten turned against us.”

“I shouldn’t had,” Tav sighed. “I wanted to at least give him a proper funeral, but we didn’t know how to do that… and we had angry cultists hunting us.”

Spawn smiled, though the smile was a bit awkward.

“In this case I would send his soul-sword to his people, I guess. Do you have it?”

Tavaris bit his lip.

“Not really; he mentioned it a couple of times, but I think it was lost when they got attacked by the Darkspawn. From what Leliana told me, that was the reason why he murdered these shems. But there can’t be too many qunari swords in Ferelden.”

Spawn’s brows rose high.

“A Qunari and a murderer. Don’t you think that this seems too much effort to honor such a man?”

Tav shrugged.

“Maybe. But maybe then his death will stop haunting me. I cannot help but think that this was some terrible misunderstanding.”

Ah. So Tavaris noticed that last, calm look on Sten’s face as well.

“But what do you want to do, my dear Warden? Search the whole country for the sword?”

Tav shrugged.

“If that’s what it takes.”

“You’re a ridiculous man, my Warden,” Zevran observed with fondness. Tavaris smiled at him, for a moment giving him this sweet smile he reserved for him when they were lovers.

For a moment everything was right in the world.

Then Tav shook all that softness away, turning to merchant.

“How did you procure that Qunari equipment?” He asked. The man shrugged, not interested in hiding the orgin of the merchandise anymore.

“Found on the dead ox-people. They fought some abyssal beasts, my dear ser.”

Tav narrowed his eyes.

“You’ve heard our talk.”

“He told me the same when I asked before,” Zevran offered. “Was there a hornless Qunari between those men?” He asked.

“There was one,” merchant admitted. “I figured him for a servant, or something, though his harness was rather well made.”

Tavaris smiled, suddenly all chipper.

“So you have his sword, I guess? A two-handed one?”

The merchant shook his head in the theatrical expression of regret.

“Unfortunately not, my good ser. I managed to sell it quite quickly.”

Tavaris’ lips narrowed into a thin line; there went the good mood.

“Do you remember who bought it?”

“A dwarven mercenary, good ser. Dwen, Dwynn — I can’t recall the name exactly.”

“Dwyn of Redcliffe?” Tav asked with some hope.

“The one and the same, good ser.”

“The man doesn’t like me much,” Tav turned to Zevran, “but at least it isn’t too far and I know where to look.”

“That sounds promising,” the assassin admitted. “But now, can we focus on things for Spawn?”

Tav nodded, but he was biting his lip from the inside, deep in his thoughts.

Zevran sighed, smiling at Spawn.

“Well, let him think — for now we don’t really need him.”

 

Browsing through the man’s wares for things for Spawn was a pure pleasure — the mage was agreeable, happy with anything that would get him out of his ungainly robes, as long as there was a hood for Curio to sit in. He just plainly refused leather arm guards, arguing they were uncomfortable to move in. About the same time Tavaris snapped back to reality, trying hard to convince the mage that the additional layer of protection is necessary. Zevran listened to him with fondness, before he finally pulled him off.

“Calm down, my dearest Warden. He is a mage, he has other means of protection than flimsy leather. If he doesn’t want arm guards, he will be able to manage without them.”

Spawn smiled at him warmly.

“Thank you, Zevran. What about boots? Those I could certainly use.”

 The merchants in the docks didn’t have anything suitable, so a decision was made to ask Bohdan about it.

Tavaris’ was deep in thought again.

“Do you think we can afford backtracking to Redcliffe before heading to Orzammar?” He asked Zevran. “I want to talk to Dwyn as soon as possible, but that would put us four days behind just to get back and here again. And it’s important that we get Orzammar ‘s support as soon as possible.”

Zevran shrugged.

“I am not sure, dear Warden. Surely the visit to Orzammar shouldn’t take too long, but on the other hand, it’s only four or five days. Maybe it’s better to do it now that we’re close than run through the half of the country again after that, when we don’t know when the Darkspawn will strike.”

“They are not moving yet,” Tavaris answered with that eerie confidence both he and Alistair got when they were talking about the Darkspawn. “We will know when it will happen.”

“Then I would say we should get to Redcliffe and then double back to Orzammar. It seems like we will lose less time this way.”

“Won’t we have to get to Redcliffe again when Eamon calls the Landsmeet?”

Zevran hummed.

“We didn’t speak of a place. Landsmeet itself will have to take place in Denerim, but probably it would be better if we arrived as a part of Eamon’s entourage. You are still a hunted man, Maker knows what would happen if we came alone.”

Tav’s ears drooped a bit.

“Then it’s settled,” he sighed. “I will talk to Dwyn when we go back there to join that shem asshole.”

Spawn furrowed his brow.

“I can see clearly that you want to go there first. Why not? It’s only four days.”

“It’s Blight; we’re at war,” Tavaris answered, his ears drooping even more. “There are only two full Wardens in Ferelden and, apparently, I am supposed to be the interim Warden-Commander between us three. We’re stretched thin as it is. I can’t base our plans on my own whims.”

He looked so unhappy about that that Zevran itched to do something to make it better, even if he had no idea what that might be.

Spawn, apparently had some idea. He pulled Tavaris into a hug, wrapping his arms around the lithe body and hiding his face in Tav’s hair.

“Ferelden is lucky to have you,” he said quietly enough that Zevran probably wouldn’t hear him if he was human. “We are lucky to have you.”

Zevran saw Tavaris stiffen briefly then relaxing into the embrace. For some reason he felt an unpleasant pang in his chest.

 

 

A day later, Spawn tore into the roasted doe with the enthusiasm of someone unaccustomed to fresh air who worked his appetite on the road. The afternoon was warmer than the past few days and it was quite pleasant to sit by fire and listen to birds chirping in the distance.

“Maker, that’s amazing,” he exclaimed as soon as he managed to swallow the huge bite. “I have never eaten anything half as good!”

Tavaris grinned, obviously pleased that his work was being appreciated.

“Give it two-three weeks, you’re going to be sick of that just like the rest of us,” he said. His smile was warm, open, unlike anything Zevran saw on him so far. With him, he was shy, slightly bashful and sweet; with Spawn he was much more confident.

“I highly doubt that. I spent most of my life eating porridge and tasteless vegetable stew. If I ever ate at all,” Spawn answered and bit into his food again.

“What do you mean ‘if you ever ate’?” Tavaris asked, scrunching his brow in confusion. “Wouldn’t Chantry make sure that you are well-fed?”

Spawn shrugged.

“Yes, probably. But not when you’re a problem child. It was easy to lose my food privileges when all I did was pranking templars and chantry sisters.”

“Food privileges? What are ‘food privileges’?”

“A privilege to get food?” Spawn shrugged. “They dislike me so much that even now, that I am Harrowed, they sometimes took my dinner away. Before that it was couple of times a week.”

Tav’s eyes widened in horror.

“You’re exaggerating, Daylen,” Wynne commented from where she was sewing a tear in her robes. “It wasn’t because anyone disliked you. We were worried about your discipline.”

The hunter zeroed on the older mage, his disbelief and anger finding a target.

“You don’t deny children food, Wynne! They are children! They are growing! They need their food!” He huffed in annoyance. “Not to mention that denying food to anyone is simply barbaric. And punishments barely work.”

“So how would you suggest disciplining children that are open to demonic influence?” Wynne put down her work and looked at Tavaris sharply. “This is a matter of security to make sure these children are well-behaved.”

“Fenedhis! Are you a mage, or a templar in disguise?” Tavaris’ cheeks turned red. “For some reason we don’t have problems with demonic possession in the clans. Maybe, just maybe, because our mages aren’t mistreated?”

“Well, I admit, there are some things that should be reformed, but the Circles aren’t so bad.”

Spawn snorted.

“It seems that you were in a different Circle than me, Senior Enchanter. From where I stand the very idea of the Circles is evil.”

“You always were so dramatic, Daylen. And look where it got you — mixed up with Uldred,” Wynne said.

“…and now I am off to become a Grey Warden. I think it got me to the right place.”

Tavaris face fell and he cast a furtive glance at Spawn, obviously distressed by something. Alistair caught his eyes and shook his head. Tavaris sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the ground. His braid fell to the ground and Tav absentmindedly wrapped it around his neck.

“You might yet regret that, Daylen. Remember: the Maker smiles sadly at the Grey Wardens for no sacrifice is greater than theirs,” Wynne answered.

“Well, having Maker smile at me at all already sounds like an upgrade from being locked for months for learning a few spells ahead of schedule.”

“That was necromancy, Daylen. These topics are restricted for a reason.”

Tavaris was gaping again; Spawn didn’t notice that, as he jumped on his feet in anger.

“We can’t all be healers, Wynne!” He snapped. “And restricting access to knowledge means only more risky experiments!” He paused, and though his eyes still burned with rage, he managed to smirk. “I haven’t said that then, but these spells you locked me for? I haven’t learned them from a book. I created them myself.”

“I haven’t locked you anywhere. It was Knight-Commander’s and First Enchanter’s decision. I don’t exactly approve of how it was executed, but the fact stays that you needed some discipline then.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Tavaris cut in, glaring at Wynne. “I don’t think you should accompany us anymore, Wynne. I am quite sure that the First Enchanter needs you in the Tower. You can go back there.”

“I’d rather stay, Warden. I believe that you need my healing and my guidance.” Wynne’s voice was calm.

Tav grit his teeth but before he managed to respond, Zevran cleared his throat.

“I apologize for interrupting, my dearest Warden,  but I believe that we do need a healer with us. We don’t always have Sacred Ashes at hand, and fighting Darkspawn is rather dangerous work. I would rather not see you so close to dying again.”

Tav’s lips narrowed into a very thin line.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But I’ll sooner lick ogre’s blighted balls than agree to any ‘guidance’ here.”

Spawn chuckled.

“That is a very colorful way of putting it, Tav, but you’ve certainly made your feelings known,” he said.

Tav’s cheeks turned slightly rosy again, this time probably not from anger – as soon as Spawn spoke, some tension left Tav’s shoulders.

“There are very few things I can never stand and child abuse is one of them,” he said quietly. “And what I hear here definitely counts. I am sorry you had to go through this.”

Spawn opened his mouth; closed. Blushed a bit, then cleared his throat. After a moment of an awkward silence, he spoke again.

“Speaking of ogres. Do darkspawn have balls at all?”

Tavaris blinked rapidly.

“I… don’t know actually. They usually have some kind of armor that covers them, I have never saw one naked.

“Genlocks don’t,” Alistair added. “So I’d guess that’s a darkspawn thing.”

Tavaris retched. It was hard to tell if that was an authentic or very studied reaction. He had siblings in the clan, had he not?

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” he said once he was able to speak again. “I really don’t want to know.”

“Hey, it was nothing like what you might be imagining!” Alistair protested vehemently. “I simply…”

“No.” Tavaris raised his hand. “Not a word more. I really don’t want to know.”

Zevran chuckled quietly, Spawn’s soft laughter joining him from the other side of the fire. They have both noticed what Alistair missed — a playful spark reappearing in Tavaris’ eyes, something that Zevran deeply missed and Tavaris deeply needed.

It was pleasant to see and Zevran’s mood lifted. With Tav smiling everything was right in the world.

The feeling lasted until few hours later, when he came from his evening wash and saw his beautiful archer in the middle of the passionate kiss with Spawn, cut short when Tavaris pushed the mage into his tent.

Zevran was never a jealous type. Being a Crow he couldn’t really afford that. The ugly feeling didn’t want to go away, though, and he ducked into his tent strangely upset.

 

For the next few days, as they moved to travel towards Orzammar, Zev didn’t feel very sociable. It probably wasn’t a smart move — Tavaris was more amiable now, but Zevran should keep making himself useful and entertaining if he didn’t want to lose his good graces. Despite that, he kept to himself, retreating to the edge of the camp when they were set down for the night and more often than not building himself a small, separate fire to sleep by if the night wasn’t rainy. Looking at Tav laughing and flirting with Spawn stirred in him many unpleasant feelings he wasn’t able to lock down.

 

 “Mind if I join you?” Spawn suddenly appeared behind Zevran’s back, his pet rat peeking curiously from his hood. He heard him approaching, but barely — no human should be able to walk this quietly, especially not one raised in a closed tower.

“Be my guest,” Zevran gestured grandly around. There was old grass, mud and two half-rotten tree trunks around; not very pleasant spot to sit in, but then Zevran didn’t pick it to be pleasant. He built a small fire away from the main camp and was mending his armor, alone and unbothered. At least until the mage came around.

“Why do you pick such awful spots?” Spawn asked, spreading his cloak next to Zevran’s fire. “Or even better — why won’t you simply join us in the main camp? It’s much nicer there.”

“I am treasuring my privacy,” the Crow answered, jabbing at the leather strap he was trying to sew.  It went painfully slow — sewing was never his forte, and the same old injury that made picking locks such a nightmare for him, hindered him greatly when it came to sewing as well. Spawn acknowledged it with a low hum, watching his hands sharply. Zevran didn’t feel so exposed in years. Not since his Apogeo, at least.

“It looks much more like brooding than ‘treasuring privacy’, you know?” The mage said bluntly.

Zevran put down his armor, not willing to show the mage his weakness and looked at him with a lewd smile.

“Ah, that is the way of people like me, is it not? A handsome, mysterious, brooding assassin — I think I read quite a few novels like that.”

“Handsome? Yes. Mysterious? Probably. But you definitely don’t look like a brooding type.”

“Should I dye my hair black to look more brooding to you?”

Spawn actually turned his head to squint at Zevran appraisingly.

“No. Nope, that won’t help. The fact that you are joking even now and that you have more laugh lines on your face than Wynne doesn’t help either.”  He paused. “Besides, from what I gathered, you didn’t treasure your privacy so much earlier. Tavaris mentioned a few times that you spent lots of time together.”

“Oh, did he?” Zevran raised one brow. Tavaris looked so happy with the mage, so cheerful that it hurt to watch — he hoped that at least his unfortunate infatuation had already passed.

The mage smirked, bending slightly towards the assassin.

“I don’t think he wanted to,” he admitted. “But when you spend your life living in close quarters with few hundred people, you learn to read cues, you know. And the cues I got were that you two used to be very close.”

“It was just some fun,” Zevran said sharply. “And it is over now. He has you and has no need for me anymore. That is what you wanted to hear, no? You can go now.”

Spawn made a popping sound and reached for Zevran’s jacket and the sewing kit. Curio slipped out of his sleeve and sniffed around curiously before he fixated on an elfroot plant growing nearby.

“Actually I was curious why would you sit and brood while Tavaris misses you so much, but I think I got the idea now. I wouldn’t expect you to be jealous, though.”

“Jealous? Me?” Zevran let out a short bark of laugh. “You have me mistaken with someone else, my dear. I admit, we had our share of fun, but then we decided to go our separate ways.”

Or rather Tavaris decided, without any explanation, but that was all for the better. He had his mage now and looked pretty satisfied — even if he rarely was kind to others anymore. At least his never-ending arguments with Alistair ceased a bit — though it seemed that it was more because of Alistair backing of out them than Tav’s amiableness.

Alright, Tavaris wasn’t much better, but at least he smiled again.

“Besides, whatever fun we might have had, it was he, who decided to end it. I do not see the point of that talk. He is happy now.”

“Is he?” Spawn raised his brows, threading the needle through leather. “And what’s more, are you? Because I can see him looking at you, sitting here alone, and it seems that each time you break his heart once more. I won’t tell you what to do… But if you ever cared for him, then maybe you two should talk.”

 “And what is your interest here?” Zevran asked suspiciously, watching mage’s hands move swiftly over the skin of his jacket.

“I owe him everything. And I simply like him,” Spawn admitted easily. “He’s good hearted, even if he tries hard to hide it; he’s great with animals, he’s caring, he can even be funny if he forgets how deeply unhappy he is. I try my best, but I don’t think I am good enough.”

“And what gives you an idea I would change a thing here? He has distanced himself from me very clearly — and for no a good reason at all.”

Spawn shrugged.

“All I know is that he misses you. And that he believes that he committed some inexcusable transgression against you. You could clear at least that out.”

Zervan raised one brow. That was a new information.

“A transgression?” He asked. “Of what nature?”

Spawn shook his head.

“Talk to him, Zevran. Not me.”

 

Zevran considered taking Spawn’s advice. Really considered. They were halfway to the Orzammar gates when he finally gathered the courage to approach Tavaris and ask about the transgressions Spawn mentioned. As soon as the camp is set, he decided, watching the long braid hanging over the horse’s rump from his place in the line as they rode north.

Apparently the Maker had different plans for him, though. They were in the middle of setting up tents when Thushel started to bark, almost drowning out the clapping of horse hooves and the low rattle of wheels that followed. Almost, but not completely. Both Zevran and Tavaris heard the intruder approaching and dropped down the tent poles, scrambling for their weapons. The humans in their party didn’t need any further instructions, following the suit.

It felt slightly like overkill when the trespasser finally appeared from behind trees — a lonely man in his thirties on a cart dragged by a single pony looked about as threatening as Bohdan.

Seeing their tense postures he let off the reins and raised his hands in the air with an awkward smile.

“Hold on, please. I come as a friend,” he said, his tone light even though there was a tension in his shoulders.

“How are we supposed to know that?” Tavaris snarled, his bow at ready, even if he wasn’t aiming for the human yet. The semi-relaxed posture meant nothing, though, as Zevran knew that the archer was able to take aim and set the arrow flying in a blink of an eye.

“He looks rather non-threatening, Warden,” Wynne observed quietly. She was holding her staff up, but didn’t seem too alarmed.

“Last time we were approached by a non-threatening traveler, we met Zevran with his group of assassins,” Tavaris answered, never taking his gaze away from the stranger. “I’m not getting fooled again.”

“To be precise, there was only one assassin in the group, my dear Warden,” Zevran protested, almost offended. “The rest were plain mercenaries. And you did not have much problem with disposing of all my hired help then.”

Tavaris’ lips narrowed into a line.

“I’m sorry, Zevran, but that doesn’t disprove my point.” He turned back his attention to the human on the cart, who smartly stilled with his hands in the air.

“Who are you and what do you want?” He demanded. “Speak quickly.”

“The name is Levi Dyrden,” the human introduced himself. “As for what I want, I hoped that maybe Duncan had mentioned me? He and I were friends. I was devastated to hear about his demise.”

Alistair was already sliding his sword back into his sheath.

“If he’s Duncan’s friend, we should listen to what he has to say, Tavaris,” he said. Noticing that the elf still didn’t let go of his bow, he added pointedly, “shouldn’t we?”

“Duncan has never said a word about you. What do you want? Give your condolences? If so, thank you and be on your way.”

Levi's expression turned sour.

“You’re not an easy man to find, Warden Mahariel, and I didn’t spend all this time looking for you to turn around now,” he answered. “Duncan made me a promise. One I hoped you might be interested in fulfilling.”

Tav was quiet for a while, his expression blank. Finally, he blurted: “How do you know my name?”

“Teyrn Loghain made sure everyone in this land knew yours, and Warden Alistair’s names as well as the faces. Though I admit, the portraits I saw don’t do you justice. I probably wouldn’t guess who is who, if not for the braid. Loghain’s criers make sure to describe it in detail.”

Zevran glanced at Tavaris, tightening his lips. Maybe it would be a smart thing to suggest him to cut his hair, but given his determination to keep it neat even through their travels, that probably wouldn’t sit well with the young man. Zevran decided to leave it off. There were more important things to focus on.

“How did you find us?” He asked, shifting a bit closer to Tavaris.

“As I said, teyrn’s people made sure that you’re well-recognized through Ferelden. I tracked you up to Redcliffe and then I had to spend some time to convince the people that I bear you no ill will. The revered mother told me eventually you were heading towards Kinloch Hold and then I learned from shopkeeper there that you were planning to head to Orzammar. From there it was a simple matter to riding hard enough to catch up with you.”

Tavaris gave Alistair a stink eye. “I wonder who told the revered mother that we’re heading to the Tower,” he said sourly.

Alistair raised his hands, mirroring Lewi’s defensive posture.

“That’s a revered mother! She can be trusted!” He protested.

“Why don’t you just march into teyrn’s prison, Alistair?” Morrigan asked in exasperation. “I am sure he will appreciate you saving him the effort.”

“Then maybe someone should comment on the fact that a shopkeeper in Kinloch Bridge was aware that we’re heading to Orzammar?” Alistair bit back. “That surely wasn’t my doing.”

Spawn cleared his throat, his eyes still trained at Levi. Curio curiously peeked out of his collar.

“And maybe we should focus now on the situation at hand? I believe we will have enough time to seek the guilty later.”

“Fine, fine,” Alistair raised his hands in a placating gesture. Tavaris seemingly ignored the whole exchange, sharply observing each Levi's move.

“What is the promise that Duncan made, then?”

For the first time the human hesitated, his expression turning a bit miserable.

“This… this is a long story,” he said. “And I will happily tell everything, but maybe we would be all more comfortable if we talked by a fire, with some food in our bellies? I’d gladly share my supplies.”

Tavaris wavered, his shoulders getting more slack for a moment — but he didn’t put his arrow away.

“If that was a trap, my dearest Warden,” Zevran said quietly. “Our bickering would give them more than enough time to surround and attack us. I think we can risk finishing setting up.”

Tavaris considered, then slipped the arrow back into his quiver.

“Fine. We’ll talk later. Zevran, please keep an eye on him.”

“As you command, my Warden.”

Tavaris winced briefly, then turned around, putting his bow down to get back to work. Zevran smiled at Levi.

“I will help you settle down,” he offered, grabbing the horse’s reins without question and leading the cart bit to the side from where the rest prepared the main camp. Bohdan hasn’t joined them yet so there was a lot of space around the main camp to choose from.

“So, Warden Mahariel is the one to talk to?” Levi started, hopping down from his cart and starting to untie the horse’s reins. “It’s odd to see an elf being the one to decide.”

Zevran raised his brow.

“Do not let him hear that,” he advised. “He is a lovely man, really kind when he wants to, but very proud. If you want anything from him, better not mention that you find the situation odd.”

Levi gave him a small smile.

“Thank you for the advice… Zevran? Did I hear the name right?”

“Yes, it’s Zevran,” he corrected the pronunciation automatically. “And you have nothing to thank for. It’s in my best interest to make sure you won’t offend him. As charming as I find him, he can also be… temperamental. And we have seen enough of that recently.”

“I see.” Levi's eyes were bright as he  analyzed Zevran’s words. “I will do my best, then, to behave respectfully.”

“He asks for nothing more,” the assassin answered softly, then cleared his throat. “What is it, anyway, you need his help with?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“Duncan promised me help with investigating some of my family heritage… which I believe should turn out to be beneficial to the Wardens as well. My great-great-grandmother was the last Warden-Commander in Ferelden.”

 “That sounds intriguing,” Zevran admitted. “Though you have to keep in mind that with the Blight the priorities might have shifted. I can’t say if Tavaris is going to be willing to make any detours.”

“We shall see, won’t we?” Levi smiled pleasantly. “It’s worth trying, anyway.”

 

 Levi was either a decent person or really wanted Tavaris to agree to his proposition, as he was, indeed, very respectful and polite during the course of the dinner. Tav listened to Levi’s story with interest, leaning against Spawn who had thrown his arm loosely across the elf’s shoulders. Zevran had trouble focusing on the Sophie Dyrden’s fate, instead stealing glances at the Warden. They have obviously grown very close with Spawn, very quickly, but the most puzzling part was Tavaris’ lack of chagrin in demonstrating that. It wasn’t a bad thing, by any means — Tavaris really needed to let go of his self-imposed restrictions, but it was surprising nevertheless. And tempting. There was lot of unrealized sensuality in his loose-limbed, relaxed stance and calm expression.

Zevran really hoped the mage appreciated what he got.

“As much as I wish to help we can’t  go to the Soldier’s Peak now,” Tavaris finally said after listening to the story told by Levi. “We have a Blight to deal with and I have to prioritize. Currently gathering allies to stand against the Darkspawn is the most important thing and I cannot allow detours.”

“The Orzammar scroll is the last treaty we have, isn’t it?” Leliana asked. “Maybe we could spare some time after visiting the dwarves?”

Tavaris nodded.

“Certainly. I am curious and an old Warden Keep sounds like an asset, so if nothing more urgent would call for our attention,” he said. “I figure we will have some time to run some side errands once the Orzammar aid is secured.”

Levi nodded seriously.

“I guess in times like this this is the best I can expect. Thank you.”

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Tavris said and yawned. “Creators, I’m exhausted.” He nudged Spawn, “I don’t know about you but I am going to sleep.”

“Well, I cannot rightly leave you alone to that,” Spawn answered — and Zevran couldn’t tell if the glint in his eye was real or was it just a reflected flame. Still, he swallowed bile as he watched them going back to their shared tent. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t jealous at all.

 

 

In retrospect, they should have expected it sooner or later. They grew rather complacent, feeling safe whenever they camped, as if Darkspawn, bandits and wild animals were going to respect their resting hours.

It was Leliana’s watch, and Zevran was rather sure she nodded off — so it wasn’t her voice, but terrible cry of a shriek that woke them up.

Zevran jumped out of the tent he shared now with Alistair, half naked and barefooted, just with his swords in his hands. His timing was perfect — a shriek was just readying itself to pierce the tent on Alistair’s side with his long claw-blades. Zevran swooped in, catching the blades on his sword and pushing the creature backwards. It was too strong to stumble and Zevran found himself in deadly, awkward lock where he couldn’t move to kill the darkspawn for the fear of the long claws cleaving his head off.

Thankfully Alistair came out of the tent to assist, hacking at the shriek’s neck until it fell dead.

Bright lights and sounds of explosions announced their mages getting awake. It was still confusing — in the darkness it was hard to tell where and how many opponents there were. Mages’ spells lightening the dark didn’t help either, blinding instead of illuminating the area. Zevran tried to rely on his hearing, but between the explosions and horrifying cries he was deafened and a bit overwhelmed.

Another shriek found him and Zevran ducked under the taloned paw, jamming one of his short swords into a weak point in the monster’s armor. Terrible stench erupted from the wound straight into Zevran’s face, but he was almost grateful that the darkspawn saved him from searching for another enemy in the dark.

“Taamleeeeeen!” A bloodcurdling scream tore itself from Tavari’s throat, cutting over the sounds of the battle. Zevran lost his footing, falling to the ground and barely rolling away before long claw-blade pinned him down like a butterfly.

A slash under unnaturally bendy knee, the darkspawn toppling face-first into the fire. Zevran didn’t miss the opportunity, holding it down with his foot as it trashed, shrieking wildly. He let go only when he saw with the corner of his eye a hurlock, taking a swing at him. By this time the shriek was already dead.

It was hard to tell how long the fight took, but when the last darkspawn fell Zevran’s feet hurt all over from stepping on sticks and stones. Other parts of his body hurt as well, but the Antivan was mostly focused on the pain in his feet as it was the least familiar. He had no idea how Tavaris could run barefooted or almost barefooted all the time.

He looked around, searching for the other elf, only to see him dart few steps away from the dimmed fire and fall to his knees, embracing something that looked to Zevran like a small genlock.

He furrowed his brow, coming closer — that couldn’t have been a genlock, could it?

“Lethallin,” the creature croaked. “Don’t…! Stay away!”

“Tamlen!” Tavaris’ voice was teary, desperate. “Tamlen, lethallin, what happened to you?”

“I’m sick, Tav, stay away,” the creature struggled weakly against Tav’s embrace, trying to escape. “Don’t look at me, don’t look at me!”

 “Hush, it’s going to be alright, I can help you, we can help you,” Tavaris looked at Alistair with a desperation in his eyes, tears running down his face. “We can help him, right? We need to Join him!”

“You can’t help me!” The creature — Tamlen — screeched. Zevran remembered the name; the boy Tavaris was in the ruins with; his first, childish crush. Now that he knew what – or rather who it was he could recognize long elven ears and elven features covered with rotten skin. “I am beyond… help!”

Alistair crouched, laying a hand on Tavaris shoulder.

“He’s too far gone, brother,” he said softly. “We wouldn’t be able to help him even if we had all the ingredients. We cannot help someone who has already succumbed to the Blight.”

“He hasn’t!” Tavaris wailed, hugging what was left of his clan brother. Even Zevran, without much knowledge on the Blight or on the Dalish saw clearly that Tamlen was a husk of a man.

“It’s the song, lethallin,” Tamlen croaked. “It’s the song, it’s too loud, I can’t help but listen,” he exhaled loudly. “I know you hear it too.”

“Yes, Tamlen, we can help, you can live yet,” Tavaris was choking on his tears, peppering Tamlen’s blackened face with small kisses. “We can help with the song.”

“We can’t, Tavaris,” Alistair repeated weakly. It was a heart wrenching sight, to see Tavaris, usually so proud, hiding away any weakness, shaking like a leaf over a dying man without any care for who might see.

“The song, Tavaris!” Tamlen wailed suddenly, his back arching. Without any warning he slashed at Tavaris’ face, carving deep groves in his cheek with a taloned hand. Tavaris yelped, letting him go, and fell back to the ground, taken by surprise. Tamlen — or the creature wearing Tamlen’s skin — let out an angry screech moving to swipe at Tav’s defenseless form once again.

He didn’t manage to. A blast of energy threw it away from Tavaris’, knocking down surprised Zevran, Wynne and Alistair as well. The creature rolled on the grass, stunned, and a string of lightning connected it to Spawn’s fingers. The mage glared at it furiously, his face set in a grimace as he sent a steady wave of electricity into Tamlen until he stopped trashing.

“Tamlen! No!” Tavaris cried as soon as he regained his wits enough to see what was happening. He crawled to the body, his face bleeding profusely, and cradled it in his lap the withered corpse. “Tamlen, no, please, no…” He was soon reduced to vicious sobbing that wrecked his whole body.

  Zevran wanted to go to him, but paused mid-step, not sure if he would be received well. Instead he hovered awkwardly few steps from Tavaris while Spawn sprinted to him, wrapping Tav in a tight hug.

“I am so, so sorry, Tav,” he whispered into his hair as Tav curled himself around Tamlen’s body. “I am so sorry.”

Tavaris stiffened under his touch, as blood from his cheek stained Spawn’s sleeve.

“You killed him,” he managed to say — it came out almost like a hiss. “You killed him!”

“He would’ve killed you,” Spawn said quietly. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Please, leave me alone,” Tavaris said, swallowing. “I… will probably understand in a few days. Now I just hate you.”

Spawn’s expression was broken as he let Tav go and stood up to leave. Zevran found himself torn — like an idiot, he wished to comfort both of them. That shouldn’t be his concern. The mage walked past him, brushing Zevran’s shoulder.

“Go to him,” he whispered. “He needs you.”

Absolved of decision-making, Zevran walked softly to Tavaris, kneeling by his side.

“I am here, if you need me, my Warden,” he said cautiously, still unsure what to do, or if his presence was welcome.

Tavaris did not answer, still sobbing violently over the body, but he leaned a bit into Zevran, acknowledging his presence. Unsure what to do, Zevran wrapped his arms over Tav’s shoulders and pulled him a little bit closer, allowing him to rest on his chest.

They stayed like that for a long while; behind them Zevran heard the rest of their group cleaning up darkspawn corpses, resetting the tents and talking in low voices. Tavaris still cried, cradling Tamlen’s body in his lap.

The cleanup was long finished and their companions started to slowly turn back in, when Tavaris calmed down a bit, starting to doze off, exhausted by his grief. Zevran shook him gently awake.

“Let us get you to your tent, my dearest Warden, hm?” He suggested, wiping tears from his cheek with his thumbs. “You need to rest.” Zevran kissed the crown of Tav’s head. “And if you want to prepare any rites in the morning, I will do my best to help.”

Tavaris choked on his tears again, but nodded. He stood up, slowly, still holding the body in his arms. Laying it to the side, he straightened Tamlen’s arms and covered him with a blanket. Zevran walked behind him and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t do anything more for him today, my dearest Warden. Come to bed, please.”

Tavaris turned around, burying his face in Zevran’s shoulder.

“Would you sleep with me tonight?” He asked in a small voice, as if scared to speak. Zevran embraced him again, still feeling slightly awkward, but starting to find his place.

“Of course, my dear Warden. I will stay with you as long as you need me. And I will help you clean your wounds.”

Tav raised one hand to his cheek, as if he only now noticed the blood caking his face — even though the deep cuts had to be painful.

“Thank you, Zevran,” he whispered, allowing the assassin to guide him to his tent.

 

Cleaning Tav’s face took longer than Zevran expected. The cuts were deep and there was darkspawn ichor on Tav’s skin, which cleaned about as easily as thick oil. Zevran’s heart stopped for a moment when he saw places where the ichor mixed with blood, but Tavaris assured him tiredly that yes, he was immune even to such close contact.

“This is going to scar, my Warden,” Zevran informed him quietly, dabbing gently at the wound. “Your cheek is literally torn through. I think you should go see Wynne.”

“I don’t want to talk to her, Zevran,” Tavaris said quietly. Now that he calmed down he lisped a bit, trying to not move the damaged side of his face too much. “Maybe in the morning,” he lay down, burrowing in his pelts. “But I think I want to have these scars. I don’t have anything else left of him.”

Zevran felt a pang in his chest watching Tav curl into himself. He had just got his smile back and now Zevran feared it was gone again.

“Lie with me, please,” Tav asked quietly.

“Of course, my dear Warden,” Zevran shuffled through his pouches and pulled out a red vial. “But please, drink at least some elfroot potion first. Scars can be very attractive, mind you, but you don’t want the wound to inflame.”

Tavaris nodded heavily and reached out to Zevran, who handed him the potion. Tavaris drowned it at once and tossed the empty vial to the side.

Zevran felt at loss.

“I would like to help you, but I am unsure as for what you need,” he said, running his hand along the long braid. “Is there anything you wish?”

“I would like if you could hold me,” came a weak answer. “But if you don’t want, then it’s fine. I took too much from you already.” His voice cracked a bit and Zevran frowned, even more confused. But holding this marvelous man was something he could do easily, so he lay down, gathering Tavaris in his arms.

The young man relaxed a bit, but he still looked despondent — which probably wasn’t a surprise,  but felt bad nevertheless.

“How  well versed are you in poetry, my dear Warden? Antivan poetry in particular?” He asked, eager to fill in the silence with some nonsense and distract Tavaris.

The archer let out a non-committal grunt.

“Well, after that you will know even less!” He promised enthusiastically, pulling him even closer. “There was a poem, told me by a rather wealthy mark of mine.” He cleared his throat. “The symphony I see in thee, it whispers songs to me,” he started in a dramatic tone. “Songs of hot breath upon my neck, songs of soft grunts by my head, songs of hands upon my back — songs of thee come to my bed.”

It was hard to tell if the answer was a snort of weak laughter or a sob.

“That was amusing at time, so I remembered it since then. I had sex with her, obviously, but the poetry did not help her in the end.”

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Tavaris asked so quietly that Zevran almost missed it.

“Ah, it is not like I did not try, is it?” He kissed briefly the crown of Tav’s head. “But I have been bested by my most benevolent mark so far.”

“Later,” Tavaris said quietly. It took Zevran a moment to understand what he had in mind.

“I thought we went all over that already!” He smiled into the golden hair. “I am much better off in your company than hoping for the mercy of Crows — it’s about as expected as gryphon's fins.”

“How can you say that, Zevran?” Finally, Tav’s voice rose a bit, though it almost drowned in another bout of sobbing. “I used you and hurt you and you haven’t said a word.” He started to shake with sobs again.

Zevran blinked, surprised.

“If you used me, I was happy to be used, even if I did not notice such a thing. But hurt? I would guess I would notice if you hurt me, my fair Warden.”

“It should have been me,” Tavaris choked out. “I let Tamlen touch that cursed mirror. I killed Sten. I raped you.”

For a moment Zevran was at a loss of words.

“You did what?” He asked finally.  “I believe that being raped is something I would definitely notice, my Warden, and I have no recollection of such an event.”

“Please, don’t play with me,” Tavaris whimpered. “I should have never taken you to bed when you thought yourself beholden to me. I didn’t think you might think you have no other option.”

Zevran would laugh at the sheer incredulousity of that, but he suspected Tavaris would take it wrong. Instead he sat up, hauling Tavaris up as well and looked his Warden in the eye.

“Listen to me, you beautiful, crazy man,” he said, wiping tears from Tav’s good cheek with his thumb. He didn’t dare to touch anywhere near the wound, even if the elfroot started to work, stopping bleeding and drying the edges of the cuts.

“You are not responsible for Tamlen’s decisions.” He took Tav’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Sten’s death was his own doing as well. It was him who turned against you, not the other way around. And know that each time we had sex  it was with my very enthusiastic consent. You are a magnificent man and it always thrilled me to share pleasure with you.” He pressed another kiss to Tavaris’ hand. “Is that why you made us all miserable for the past few weeks?”

 Tavaris gave a shaky nod, his hands trained on the bedroll.

“May I kiss you?” Zevran asked.

This time the hunter looked up, blinking in surprise.

“Yes?” His voice cracked up a bit. Zevran cradled his face in his hands, carefully avoiding the injured area.

“I won’t, if you don’t want me to,” he said emphatically.

Tavaris surged up, hissing as Zevran’s fingers caught at the wound and kissed him with much more force than Zev planned.

It was far from the best kiss they shared. I tasted of blood, tears and elfroot and the assassin was barely daring to reciprocate for fear of hurting Tav even more. But it was a relief to know that their misunderstanding has been finally cleared out.

“Can I get Wynne now?” Zevran asked without much hope. As he expected, Tavaris shook his head.

“I don’t want to see that meddling hag,” he scrunched his nose in distaste. “I can’t handle her now. And magic makes me sick.”

 Zevran sighed, hiding his face in Tavaris’ hair. “In the morning, then?”

Tav grimaced.

“Perhaps,” he answered slowly.

That was, apparently, as good as he could hope for.

“In this case, how about you get some rest? You have not been kind to yourself recently and today’s happenings surely took their toll as well.”

At that Tavaris nodded.

“But please, Zevran, stay with me,” he pleaded.

The assassin pulled the young man closer, hiding with him under the thick furs.

“Of course, my Warden.”

 

 


End file.
